


my blood

by clorhine



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz (Two River Cast) RPF, Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Be More Chill - Freeform, Depression, Imaginary Friends, M/M, MY BLOOD, Minor Character Death, alternative universe, boyf riends - Freeform, twenty one pilots - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-22 13:23:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16598723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clorhine/pseuds/clorhine
Summary: All I know is that mom died. I felt empty inside. I didn't know what to think or what to say; did I even say goodbye?I thought my world was crumbling to pieces—until Michael showed up.---based on the 'my blood' music video by twenty one pilots.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [twenty one pilots: My Blood [Official Video]](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/432095) by twenty one pilots. 



> \- this is going to be multiple chapters yay  
> \- this is some sad shit  
> \- i will try to update every week  
> \- im sorry  
> \- watch the music video to understand more https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8mn-FFjIbo8

_"Dad? What's wrong with her? W-what happened?"_

_"She's gone, Jeremy."_

_"Gone as in, forever?"_

_"Forever."_


	2. Chapter 2

(jeremy's pov)

\---

Just a couple days ago, we were laughing, having a great time. Dancing and playing in the front yard; playing catch with dad, and getting tickled and lots of kisses from mom.

That was just a couple of days ago. How can so much happen in a couple of days? Mom got sick, that's what. I can't really remember what happened to her though, my memory has been foggy ever since. 

All I know is that mom died. I felt empty inside. I didn't know what to think or what to say; did I even say goodbye? 

I thought my world was crumbling to pieces—until Michael showed up.


	3. Chapter 3

The nurse came in the cold hospital room with a sad look on her face. She looked at my dad with a mourn-fulling look, as she flipped to a page on her clipboard. She bent down and whispered something in his ear, giving him a soft touch on his shoulder before leaving the room. 

There was obvious tension in the air, from the lack of information I was given about my mother's state, and the uncommon silence coming from dad's direction.

A sudden outbreak of crying and weeping came from dad, breaking the awful silence. He put his hands over his eyes and hunched over in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. Soft sobs came from his mouth, unable to stop the tears from falling.

I over to his mother's bedside, looking down at her lifeless body. I feel my face getting hot, and I can feel the stinging of the salty tears well up in my eyes. 

"Dad? What's wrong with her? W-what happened?

My father grimaced, resting his hand on my shoulder. "She's gone, Jeremy."

"Gone as in, forever?"

"Forever."

The sorrowful news felt like there was a knife was stabbed in my heart. She couldn't be gone, she just couldn't be gone. I look at her again, nothing seemed to move. Her eyes remained shut, and as I tried to intertwine my fingers with hers, her arm went limp.

I felt like my whole body just shut down; it felt as if my throat was clogged, I was struggling to breathe—like I was drowning. I was drowning in the air that surrounded me, it was heavy and thick.  

"Let's go home, Jeremy."

I look up at my dad, watching him get up from his chair. He winced, as if his body shut down too. He presses a soft kiss on my mother's forehead, and grabbed my hand. We walked out of the hospital, silence following us on the way out.

We didn't talk on the trip home. The radio was off, our mouths closed. All I could hear was the soft hum of the engine of the car and the sound of cars zooming by.

We finally pull into our driveway, and my dad just sits there, looking off into space. He literally looked  _dead._ I didn't know what to do or what to say in that moment, I didn't want to make anything worse.

I finally come to the conclusion that I was going to go for a walk. I mumbled a sad goodbye to my dad as I left him in the car to grief. I pull my hoodie over my head and began walking.

An eight-year-old boy shouldn't be walking by himself, especially when the sun was setting and the dark was creeping in, but I didn't care, and neither did my dad apparently.

I walk along a dirt path, kicking a pebble as I run into a chain-link fence. I climb over it, and enter a large field filled with tall transmission towers. It was getting darker by the minute, dusk slowly creeping in. 

I trudge towards the center of the field and lay on my back, feeling the cold earth cooling my spine. I look up at the stars and wonder which star was my mother. 

I can't even grasp the fact that she is gone forever. I'll no longer be able to feel the warmth from her hugs, the kisses she gave me every night, the way she calmed me down when my anxiety was over the roof, I'll no longer feel her presence.

Before I know it, I'm crying. I've never cried like this before, I was never genuinely sad. _It felt like there was a piece missing from me._  I shouted and cried at the world, asking god—even if there was one—why would he do this to her, to me? My throat and eyes were burning, I was struggling to breathe. My whole body was being crushed by my trauma.

"Why are you crying?"

I quickly sit up and regain the sense of being in the real world. I look over to my right and see a boy, who happens to be looking at me in a concerned, worried way.

"I- uh, my mom, I... w-who are y-you?" I ask, managing to say it between my muffled sobs and clogged face.

"I'm Michael, Michael Mell."

The boy looked around my age, but he was slightly taller than me. He was Filipino, with tanned skin and dark brown hair that made lovely curls and swirls around his head. His eyes were a deep dark brown as well, looking mysterious and slightly hidden behind his circular glasses frames. He was wearing a red hoodie with tons and tons of patches decorating the sleeves and front, with a painted polar bear on the back. It was rather big on him though, the whole hoodie big enough to swallow my body whole. 

"Well," I say. "W-what are you d-doing here?"

"I was just on a walk. I was going to climb one of the transmission towers." He says, pointing to one of the towers in front of us. 

I wipe my nose on the sleeve of my hoodie. "I've n-never seen y-you around before."

"I've been around, you just hadn't noticed, until now at least." He motions his head towards the empty spot next to me, and I nod my head, allowing him to sit.

"So, I'm guessing your mom is gone too?" He asks.

I give him a shocked glance. "Wait h-how did you-"

He cuts me off. "I just know. It's okay, my mom is gone too." He gives me a sympathetic hug around the shoulders and I lean into his embrace. I'm not sure who or where this Michael kid came from, but it felt nice knowing that he was here.

After a few minutes and comfortable silence, the mysterious Michael speaks up. "You should go home now, Jeremy."

"How do y-you know my n-name?" I never t-told you."

"Like I said, I've been around. You may have never noticed me, but I know who you are." He gives me a soft smile, and starts to walk off, assuming that he's going home as-well.

"W-wait Michael!" I exclaim. "Will y-you come back?"

He doesn't turn around. "Just come here tomorrow, Jeremy. This same exact spot. I'll be here." He soon walks far enough to where he disappears into the darkness.

I head on home, and I'm feeling a little bit better. Michael kind of helped, even if I didn't know who he was.

I open the front door and start to walk to my room, where I see my father with a beer in his hands, and dozens of bottles and cans surrounding him. My dad never really drank, I was starting to get worried.

I lay in my bed, and think about my mother, and a little bit of Michael. Where did he come from? How did he know my name? Is he really going to be at the field all day?

He seems mysterious, but I'm guessing we are going to become great friends.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated xx


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up the next morning feeling sick. My head was throbbing, and my chest ached with pain. I didn't want to get up, but I had to go see Michael. Something about him made me want to go.

I tiptoe downstairs and see my father nowhere to be found. I assume he went to bed after-all. 

I head out the front door and walk along the same dirt path as I did last night, and climbing over the same chain-link fence. I see the transmission towers scattered all over the place, and I see a figure swinging on them in the distance.

I walk closer, and it's the not-so-familiar face of the Filipino boy I met last night, hanging upside down and swinging on the pole's of the same transmission tower he said he was going to climb.

"Hi, Michael."

He sees me and his face instantly lightens. "Jeremy, my buddy! How are you feeling?" He jumps down from the tower and examines my face, then embraces me in a tight hug. 

"Oh!" I exclaim, surprised from the sudden hug. "I'm doing okay, I feel sick."

"It's from you crying so much, It'll only hurt for a little bit." He says, picking a piece of lint off my shoulder.

"Oh, okay." I say. "How long have you been waiting? I have to go to school soon."

"I wasn't waiting for long, we can go to school together."

"You go to school with me?" I ask.

"Yeah, I've always been."

I look at him blankly. "You're not in my class."

Michael gives me a confused look. "Yes I am. Jeremy, you must be tripping." He laughs it off and starts to climb the chain-link fence again walking down the dirt path. "I'll catch you at school, Jer." 

Since when did he go to school with me? When was he ever in my class? I climb the fence and go along the dirt path, and head towards school. 

When I get to the tall, dark, brick building—also known as school—I get inside my warm third grade classroom, and I see no other than Michael Mell sitting in the seat besides me. He gives me a soft, kind smile and waves me over, as if he was in the classroom the whole year.

"See? I told you I was in your class." 

I was shocked. "B-but how-"

"No time for questions, class is starting."

Mrs. Kropp stood at the front of the class, giving us a cheesy—and obviously fake—smile. "Okay class, today we are going to do a little crafting project!" The whole class exclaims in joy, except for Michael and I, who seemed quite unamused. "We are going to make a little portrait of our families, showcase your siblings, and your mom and dad! Grab some paper and glue everybody!"

My stomach dropped when she said the word  _family_. I barely have one anymore. My eyes are starting to sting, and my cheeks are slowly getting pink. Chloe Valentine turns around to pass me paper, and she sees I'm on the verge of tears. "You're being  _such_ a crybaby." 

I don't really know what I saw or what happened next, except for seeing Michael's stubby hands reaching for a glue bottle. The next thing I know, there's a puddle of glue in Chloe Valentine's hair, and she's screaming like a lunatic.

It was a little blurry after that. I remember seeing Mrs. Kropp reaching for both mine and Michael's hands and leading us to the front office. We sat down on the dusty couch, slowly sinking into the couch creases. I turn to Michael and he has this devious smile on his face.

"W-what happened?"

The Filipino boy turns to me and cocks his head. "I put glue in Chloe Valentine's hair."

"Why?"

"Cause she called you a crybaby."

I feel the heat rising from my cheeks to my ears. "I'm fine, M-Michael, really. Y-you didn't have t-to do that."

"It's what friends are for. Besides, that project was dumb anyways, let's go home."

We rise from the creases in the couch, seeing the dust particles fly away from the seams of the fabric. We walk out the front door and I hear someone calling me, but it was like they were in the building. "Did you hear that Michael?" I ask, turning to go back inside. 

"I didn't hear anything." 

I look back in the building, I could've swore I heard...

"Jeremy? Earth to Jeremy? We gotta go, c'mon." Michael tugs on my sleeve and pulls me along as we jog to my house. I showed Michael they way of course, but I had a small feeling that he knew already.

We open the front door, and I'm greeted by my dad, who is sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand. He turns to look at me and looks back at the TV, taking a long sip from the bottle. "Hey, Jeremy." he says. 

"Hi, dad," I mumble. He looks at me again and sighs. "The school called," he says.

"What did they say?"

"You poured glue in some girl's hair, I was supposed to pick you up, but I see you decided to take matters in your own hands." He gives me an angry glare.

"What? I never did that." He eyes me suspiciously. "I swear, it was Michael," I say, gesturing to the Filipino boy beside me. "You know Michael right? Michael, this is my dad, dad, this is Michael."

Michael gives my dad a small wave, while my dad just sips his beer and turns around. "I don't know who this Michael kid is, Jeremy." he puts his gaze back to the television and puts his now empty bottle of beer on the coffee table, and grabs a full bottle and pops it open. 

I start to protest, about to say that Michael was literally standing next to me, but Michael put his hand on my shoulder, like he does often, and told me it doesn't matter. "He's too drunk to care," Michael says. He was probably right, who knows how many bottles he consumed.

I lead Michael up the stairs to my bedroom, which was rather big for an eight-year-old to have, but will soon clutter up with things I liked as I grew up. All in there was just a bed and a couple posters of TV shows I enjoyed, along with a nightstand beside the bed. Michael kicked his shoes off and plopped down on the bed, bouncing slightly against the bed. "Cool room," he says.

"It's not much," I say. It was true, it  _wasn't_ much, but I liked it. My mother decorated it for me.

Michael gives me a soft smile, a smile I was glad to see instead of that devious grin he had on earlier. "So, what do we do now?"

What do we do now? I never really had friends, even the acquaintances I managed to get weren't ever invited over. I was never invited to other kids houses either, I didn't really mind though.

I shrugged. Michael gave me a sympathetic smile and looked around the room. "You need to eat."

I realized how hungry I was after Michael suggested it. How was he so good knowing these things about me?  I nodded my head okay and went downstairs to the kitchen. He trailed behind me and turned on the kitchen light. 

"Michael, I don't know how to make anything."

"It's okay, cause I do. Peanut-butter and Jelly."

 Peanut-butter and Jelly was my favorite, it was a good thing he knew how to make it. I always loved it when my mother made it for me, it was the best thing ever. She always put a little love in it, I guess.

I grabbed the ingredients for Michael and watched in awe as he began making our meal. At eight-years-old, he seemed like he was a cooking expert, like a chef. He gave me my sandwich and I ate it happily, it tasted... just like my moms. Just like the way she used to make it.

Maybe I cried a little, I don't know. It might've been nostalgia, I guess. It brought back the memories of how my mom always packed me a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich in a brown paper bag with a little note inside. 

We went back upstairs and I did feel a little sleepy, night was falling, and so were my eyes. 

"You should go to sleep, Jer," Michael suggests. I hadn't realized the lack of sleep I've gotten these past two days, and it was really tiring for a lightweight eight-year-old like me. I climb into bed, still with my school clothes on, and Michael tucks me into bed. 

"Goodnight Jer," Michael says, reaching for the door handle. 

"W-wait!" I exclaim.

He turns around with a cocked eyebrow, hand still on the knob. "Yes, Jeremy?"

I look down at my hands, a sudden feeling of embarrassment rushing over me. I don't know why, but it was a silly question. 

"Stay with me."

Michael gives me a soft, reassuring smile. "Of course."

He climbs into my bed with me, and gives me a hug. Slowly he falls asleep, and as do I, but I can't help think about how lucky and rare it was to become friends with someone like Michael.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos + comments are appreciated xx


	5. Chapter 5

 ••• 

"What the  _fuck_ Michael?"

There was Michael, with that devious smile on his face. In his hands was a wooden baseball bat, and on the street was now a broken mailbox—courtesy of him. He goes to the neighboring mailbox and swings as hard as he can, knocking down and breaking that one too. He grins at me. "I'm just having fun," he replies.

"We'll get in trouble!" I exclaim, looking around at my surroundings in case people were near by.

"Only if we get caught," he says glancing down at the mailbox, looking rather pleased with himself.

Michael was always looking forward to get in some type of trouble, ever since I've met him. He's always breaking shit, badmouthing everyone who crosses him, and just overall being a huge  _idiot._ We're seniors now, and his mischievous ways had never stopped. He was the same old Michael, doing the same stupid shit for years. 

And I love him for it.

He does it out of love, I guess. Ever since he poured glue in Chloe Valentine's hair in third grade, he won't let anyone do me wrong. He'll pick fights with anyone who teases me, and he protects me like a mother would. Although he does a lot of stupid shit, I know he does it out of the kindness of his heart. These past ten years he's been there by my side, and he's never left once. I am appreciative for that. I am appreciative for Michael.

I see Michael bend down and pick up a piece of orange paper that fell out of the previous mailbox he hit. He reads it over, and a smile appears on his face. "Check this shit out, Jer." I look over his shoulder and read the neon colored paper. In big, drippy, black font, the sheet reads "You Are Invited To: Jake's Spooktacular!" Below the spooky font, there was party details, none that Michael seemed to care about. I shrug my shoulders. "What about it?"

"What about it!? Jer, we were just invited to this totally cool and awesome...  _spooktacular._  We should definitely go."

"We were definitely not invited."

"Yes we were, I have the flyer in my hand."

"You just got that out of a mailbox. That you just  _hit._ With a  _bat,_ " I point out, looking at the dented and smashed aluminum on the ground. "This isn't our [house](https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/167249777/write/659896893#)."

Michael stashes the flyer in his jean pocket, saving it for later. "Whoever's house this is can just get a new one. It'll be totally fun anyways." He grabs my hand and we start walking down the street, my hand in his left, the bat in his right. 

I turn my gaze to Michael and give him a small little smile, and he gives me one back. His dimples made deep indents on his cheeks, and his eyes were full of fire. It's been ten years, but he really looks almost the same. He just got taller and grew into face more. He has a sharp jawline, and his teeth are now covered with silver train tracks of braces. The dark curls in his hair were now pulled back by a dark blue headband. He still has that red, rustic hoodie, and it fits him like a normal sweatshirt would. It is covered in way more patches than before. There's a new Bob Marley one, a "Rise Above Racism", and a gay pride flag on his sleeve, the colors more vibrant than ever. He was pretty open about his sexuality, especially since when we were spray painting the side of a building and he wrote, "The Gays Will Take Over". 

I was completely unaware of the fact that we stopped walking. I look at Michael's lips and they were saying something to me, but I didn't know what.

I was in a daze.

Then I feel my right cheek sting with a little bit of [pain](https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/167249777/write/659896893#), not a lot. I look at Michael and his expression on his a face is a mixture of concern and laughter. I just now realised that he  _slapped_ me.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" I spit, rubbing my cheek with the palm of my hand. Michael just bursts out laughing, but pulls me in a quick hug to show his remorse. "Sorry, but you were just spaced out, you didn't hear what I said," Michael replies, grabbing my hand again and continuing our walk.

"W-what did you ask?"

"I wanted to know why you were staring at me so wistfully."

I choke on my words. "W-what?"

He chuckles, then softly punches me on the arm. "I'm just kidding, but you were looking at me all lovey-dovey. I asked if you wanted to go [home](https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/167249777/write/659896893#)."

I gulp and nod my head yes, and we go on our way to my house.

\----

Michael is always at my house, he never really leaves. He only goes home occasionally, but he says his parents don't mind if he's gone. He eats, sleeps, and showers here, he even cooks for me a lot. It's like we were a married couple.

My dad however, never acknowledges Michael. Michael would always ask my dad how he was doing, or "lovely weather, isn't it?", but he never replies, making Michaels existence to him to appear unknown. He drinks all day, not giving a fuck about me or himself. One night he drank so much that he passed out, and I has to call the hospital. Turns out he had liver cancer, and instead of taking his meds, he continued to drink, like he wanted to kill himself. He is slowly dying.

Michael does his normal greeting with my dad, and getting his regular dose of rejection from him. Michael sighs and sits down on the chair across from him, waiting patiently for his answer, even though he knows he won't get one.

"Dad," I say.

He gives me a little hum, showing that he was listening to me.

"You need to get up, do something."

Silence.

"Dad?"

He takes another sip from his drink, giving me no reply. I was starting to get angry, he was ignoring me on purpose.

"Dad,  _get up."_  

I feel the hot tears in my eyes. I feel the redness fill up in my cheeks, and the fingernails digging into my palms.

I've had enough. I'm [sick](https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/167249777/write/659896893#) and tired of this shit.

"Dad, get the  _fuck up!"_  I kick the lightweight coffee table out of my way, letting it smash into the wall beside me. I grab him by the collar of his shirt, shaking him as my tears were falling. "Get the fuck up! You fucking shithead, can't you do anything else besides fucking drinking?" I raise my fists to start pounding on his chest, but Michael grabs me, holding me against my will. I'm struggling to get through his grip, but he strong, and I know he won't let go. 

"Fuck! Michael, get off of me!" I'm twisting and turning, my vision getting blurrier and blurrier my the second. His grip tightens as I keep struggling. I soon know that I was not going to [win](https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/167249777/write/659896893#) this fight, and I give up. I stop trying to get out of his reach, and I collapse into his arms. I was physically and mentally tired. Michael hugs me tightly, and then picks me up and goes out the front door. He carries me all the way to the field, the first place where we met. He sets me down so I can climb the fence and he follows behind me, making sure I don't fall.

We make it towards the center of the field, the transmission towers surrounding us. I can't believe this is where we met.

I look at Michael and I just fall onto him, balling my eyes out. He crouches so we can sit on the ground, and I just hold onto him so tight, soaking his hoodie with my tears. "I'm so f-fucking d-done." I rest my head onto the crook of his neck, sobbing my heart out.

Michael wraps me in his arms, putting his head on mine. "Shh, Jer. Everything is going to be okay. You have me, that's all you need," he whispers. He kisses me on the forehead and holds me tighter. "You don't need to run, Jeremy."

He was right. I don't need to run away from my problems. I don't need to run away from my fears, rejection. I have him—I have Michael.

He looks down at me, seeing how damaged I am. "I'll go with you. We'll run together."

I didn't for one second didn't believe he was lying. He would go with me.

 


End file.
